


Misplaced

by janelane93



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Clones, Developing Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janelane93/pseuds/janelane93
Summary: When Victor is late returning from a job, a secret is revealed.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Logan (X-Men), Victor Creed/Original Male Character(s), Victor Creed/Remy LeBeau
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

"I can explain."

That's what he said. With a straight face, too. You gotta admire the balls it takes to say that, considering the situation at hand. 'Course, if there's one thing you can count on him for, it's audacity.

I thought there was no fucking way he could tell me anything that I didn't already know, but with a fifteen hour flight ahead of us, I decided what the hell, let's see him try.

***

This all started about three weeks back.

Now, you have to understand, I've been around. I've seen some shit. There ain't a whole lot that fazes me. Alien race needing our help to stop a genocide of their planet by neighboring civilization? Sure. Secret government program used your DNA to make super-soldier kids hell-bent on murder? No big deal. Teammate turns to the dark side and wants to open a portal that will destroy all of existence? Happened twice.

So when the Cajun knocked on my bedroom door the other afternoon and asked me to tag along on a trip to Canada to help John Greycrow with something, I didn't figure it would be any more weird than our usual level of weird, you know?

He stood in the doorway, all lean and lanky, smelling like sex and electricity. He can't help it, you know, the way he smells. People can't control their scents. I know that, but the kid's smell still gets under my skin. It's all male and oozing with pheromones, which is hard enough to deal with, that in-your-face masculinity that can't help but be a challenge to my place at the top of the pack. 

But then there's the sparks, the ozone-crackle, like right before a thunderstorm, that raises the hair on the back of my neck, the way animals can sense a storm coming. Makes me want to fight him, or maybe fuck him. I never can decide which. It drove me nuts at first, and I was pretty rough with him when he first joined the team, but I got used to it. It still gets me going if I haven't seen him for awhile. I ain't an animal though, not completely, so I keep myself under control.

So there he was, leaning in the doorway, looking like a snack, pretty face scrunched up in worry, asking for my help.

"Why would Scalphunter call you? He works for Sinister."

"He's still my friend, Logan. We were real close b'fore all dat business wit Essex. He sounded desp'rate, too, said he was afraid if he waited any longer, Essex would come sniffin' aroun'."

"The hell does that mean?" I asked. 

"I don' know. He jus' said come as quick as I can an' he'll explain when I get dere."

No wonder the kid was confused.

"Yeah, all right. I'll meet you in the hangar in ten." I put down my book with a sigh. So much for a quiet afternoon to read Plato.

Remy smiled at me then, the worry on his face disappearing, like me agreeing to go along made everything better. He's a good looking kid, I'll admit it. Not that I'm interested in men or anything, but I can appreciate a pretty face. And when Remy turns that smile on you, it's hard not to notice what a pretty face it is. I suppose there's worse ways to spend the day than traipsing around with the Cajun.

***

We landed in a clearing in the woods at the coordinates Greycrow gave Remy. There was a little town about ten kilometers away that we saw as we came in to land, but the place we were headed was pretty secluded, a house tucked into the trees. We touched down and I could see that the house was a two-story log cabin, looked like it'd been built from the same trees that surrounded the place. Standing just outside the front door was the big Apache, his brows furrowed. He came to meet us about twenty paces from the house.

"Thank God you're here, I didn't know what I was gonna do." He grabbed Remy into a brief hug, which the kid returned.

"Y't'ink I was jus' goin' t'leave you hangin'?" The Cajun asked with a grin, "My bes' friend?"

Greycrow's brows furrowed again, and he ran a hand through his hair nervously. He stunk like fear. 

"Aw shit, Remy, after this I don't know if you'll ever speak to me again. But I couldn't just let Sinister take him back."

The kid cocked his head, confused.

"Mon Ami, why we don' go inside y'house, an' you can explain everyt'in? I'm sure it'll be ok." He walked past John, trying to lead him to the house.

"No!" The big man shook his head, grabbing Remy by the arm. "We can't go inside yet. I need to... prepare you first."

"For what?" I asked with a growl. I'd had about enough of this. I started walking to the house. Remy and Greycrow followed.

"Look, it's... Complicated. And I don't really know all of it. But-"

We were about five meters from the house now, when it it hit me. I could smell him. He wasn't there now, the scent wasn't fresh, but he had been there within a couple days. His stink was all over this house. Victor Creed. I didn't realize I was snarling, or that I was turning back around, but a second later there I was, the Apache held against the nearest tree trunk by one fist, my claws against his throat, and a surprised look on his face. 

"What the fuck is this?!" I demanded.

The Cajun was trying to pry me off his friend, he didn't know what I'd smelled, just that I'd turned feral in the blink of an eye.

"Logan! Y'let him go!" He hollered at me. I inched my claws closer to Greycrow's face.

"You got about two seconds to tell me why you brought us here. Cut the bullshit. Where's Creed?" I growled.

"Creed?" The kid repeated, letting go of my arm where he had been trying to pull me away. He was looking at John, shock and hurt on his face.

"He's not here!" John said, desperate now. "I swear he's not here, that's why I called you. He was supposed to be back two days ago, and he's not. This is his house. I can't keep coming here every day, Essex is gonna notice, and he'll want to know why, and I'll have to tell him, and I can't just let the boss take him back to the lab. You have to take him with you until Victor gets back!"

Remy shook his head, looking at his friend like he was trying to understand someone speaking a foreign language.

"Take who wit us? What're y'talkin' about? You want us t'look after Creed's dog or somet'in'?"

That's when I saw him, standing on the threshold of the front door to the house. I had been so blinded by rage when I caught Creed's scent that I hadn't heard the door open. He looked confused and scared. And very, very familiar.

I let go of Greycrow like he was poison. He and the Cajun both noticed where I was looking, turned to see why I was gaping at the door, and froze.

"Shit." John muttered. Remy made a strangled noise, like a bird crashing into a window at full speed.

"I said to stay inside." Greycrow spoke softly and patiently, like he was talking to a child.

"That man tried to hurt you." He sounded worried, a little uncertain quaver that I wasn't used to hearing, but there was no mistaking the voice. Or the face. It was Remy LeBeau.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Remy. Only it wasn't. Height, build, hair, everything was physically the same except for one thing - this Remy's eyes were bright, intense green instead of the demon red and black that I'd expecred. He carried himself real different, though - shy and unsure, not infuriatingly confident like the Cajun peacock I was used to. He looked younger somehow, smaller, even though he was the same size as Remy. Clean shaven, wearing a white t-shirt and black lounge pants, feet bare.

"He tried to hurt you." The kid repeated himself, watching me cautiously. His voice was just like Remy's, but without even a hint of an accent. It was bizarre.

Greycrow straightened himself up and took a step towards the boy.

"It's ok. He was upset, but he's better now, right?" The Indian looked at me for confirmation.

"Yeah." I grunted. Whatever the fuck this was, the other Remy was scared and that wasn't gonna help things.

He was looking curiously at my Remy now, who was staring back at him, aghast, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. The Cajun was speechless, which was something I never thought I'd see.

"We're the Same." The other Remy spoke again. He said 'Same' like that, like it had a capital letter at the beginning.

"Yeah," John nodded, "You are. I need to talk to them for a few minutes, and then we'll come inside, ok? Just go back in and wait for us."

"Ok." The kid said pleasantly, and did as he was told. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound as loud as thunder in the silence where we stood.

For a minute, no one moved.

" _John_?" Remy finally managed to speak, just the one horrified word, but his face said it all. He looked like he might pass out.

"Siddown." I steered the Cajun to a picnic table tucked off to the side of the house, figured if he was gonna faint it'd be better to have him sitting when it happened.

Greycrow sat down too, shamefaced. I looked at him steadily.

"Talk." I ordered.

John took a deep breath to steady himself, and began. He gave Remy a nervous look. The kid's face was thunderous.

"The boss has been, uh, trying to clone you for awhile now, but it never works out. They're always damaged, or deformed, or don't have the right powers."

"Why?" The kid asked. Sinister was the best there was at what he did, and what he did was clone people.

"I don't know. He goes on and on about how complex your genes are and how fascinating it is that it's so difficult to replicate you. Then when the batch of clones comes out wrong he throws a temper tantrum and curses your name while he, um, disposes of them."

"An' he's one of dem?" Remy ignored the implication of that last phrase, and tipped his head towards the house, where a pair of green eyes peeked shyly from the window.

"Yeah. He's a perfect copy of you, except he has no powers at all."

"So why wasn't he killed with the rest of the batch?" I asked, suppressing a shiver at the thought of Essex dispatching a bakers dozen Remy clones.

"About six months ago, the boss hired Victor for a job. He said that instead of his usual payment, he wanted one of the clones. I guess Sinister figured he could save himself some money, so he gave him one. That was the end of that, I thought, the clone would be dead within a day.

Then a month or so later, Victor called me and said he was going away for a couple days on a job and asked me to come check on the kid while he was gone. I thought he was pulling my leg, but he wasn't.

So now, when Vic goes out of town, I come by each day to make sure the kid's ok. The boss had been making noises about wanting to examine him, he says just to make sure he's healthy, but Victor hit the roof when he heard. He said Essex isn't allowed anywhere near him. And the boss backed off, but now Victor's been gone two days longer than he should have been, and I'm afraid the boss is gonna notice and try to take the clone back while he has a chance.

He's scared of the boss. I don't know what he might have seen, or what he remembers from when he was 'born', but I know I can't let Essex bring him back to the labs."

The Cajun had been quiet, listening to John's explanation and eyeing him coldly, biting his tongue about something.

"Does he know what he is?" I asked.

Greycrow considered.

"I don't think he would understand even if Victor had explained it. He's-"

"Six mont's ago?" Remy finally cut in, deadly quiet. I knew he was pissed. The angrier he gets, the calmer he is. Comes in handy in his line of work, I suppose. "Dis happened _six mont's ago_ an' you never mentioned it t'me? I've seen you a dozen times since den!"

"What the hell was I supposed to say?" John countered, throwing his hands up, " 'Hey Rem, so the boss's lastest round of clones of you was a bust just like all the others and oh by the way he gave one of 'em to Vic and now he's keeping it as a pet! Anyway let's go out for a beer.' "

"Y'never bothered t'say anyt'in about de clones eit'er!"

"I couldn't! I couldn't do anything about it and I knew if I told you, you'd try to do something stupid like stop the boss and that would just get you in trouble with him! You think I'm happy about it?!" John was worked up now. "For Christ's sake Remy, I know what it's like, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend!"

Remy blanched at that. The only reason Greycrow knew what it was like was because Remy had recruited him to the Marauders, unknowingly handing his best friend to that sick fuck to be copied and killed over and over, never knowing peace, never actually dying for good. That knowledge was like a fourth person sitting there silently at the table.

"Creed fucks him, doesn't he?" Remy asked, with deflated resignation. That'd been my guess too, but I wasn't gonna be the one to bring it up. If the clone was still alive after all this time, Creed had to be getting some kind of enjoyment out of keeping him around.

"I don't know. And I don't want to know." John shook his head decisively. "I've never seen him hurt, and he's not scared of Victor, so whatever he's doing to him, it must not be so bad."

"De boy ain' told you?" Remy asked.

"He doesn't talk to me." John replied. "He's afraid of the boss, and he knows I work for him, so he doesn't like me either."

"Creed works f'r Essex too, though."

"Yeah, but only now and then. And Victor's the one who took him away from the lab, so the kid thinks he hung the moon."

Remy leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

"So will you take care of him?" John asked.

The Cajun sighed.

"Of course."

I let out a breath a hadn't realized I was holding, and we stood up to go inside.

...

If I hadn't known the house belonged to Creed, it would've been my kinda place. "Rustic" is what Jubes would call it, with a little wrinkle of her nose, but to me the rough hewn wood and simple furnishings felt homey and comfortable. It looked like a lot of it was handmade, too, from the same wood as the house itself. Course, the stink of him was all over, so I didn't feel at ease.

There was another scent there, too, of the clone. It wasn't like Remy, though. I suppose without the electric current of his powers, the horny smell of him was toned down. No, this Remy didn't smell like sex and sparks. It was a gentle scent, innocently sensual, sweet and calming. A lot like the kid himself, who had turned from the window to watch us enter.

"This is Remy." John introduced us, "And this is Logan." He pointed to me.

The clone looked at us with a little uncertain smile.

"This is Kit." John finished.

"Hi." The kid spoke softly.

"Kit?" Remy looked at John with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah. Victor only ever calls him Kitten, so he thinks that's his name, but I'm not gonna call him that, so I shortened it."

I bit my lip trying not to guffaw at that. It wasn't funny, not really, but the look on Remy's face was priceless. There was a muscle in his jaw twitching, and I could see he was trying to keep his cool as plastered a winning smile on his face.

"Pleased t'meet you, Kit." He managed through gritted teeth.

"Hey." I nodded to him.

Kit looked to John for what to do next.

"They're going to take you with them, remember?" He prompted.

"On that airplane?" He asked brightly.

"Yep," John nodded, "Do you have anything you want to take with you?"

The kid thought hard for a minute, scrunching his face, before responding. Other than the eyes, it wasn't unlike an expression I'd seen on Remy countless times. I never noticed how cute it was.

"Yes."

"Well, go on and get it. We'll wait here." John instructed.

The kid scampered off upstairs.

John led us into the kitchen. There was a calendar stuck to the side of the fridge with the past Monday circled in red, and X's drawn through all the days of this week up to today, Wednesday. The kid must have been keeping track of when Creed was supposed to return.

"I should run the dishwasher probably." Greycrow said, mostly to himself. How domestic, I thought, Betty Freakin' Crocker.

"Creed really leaves him here alone? He don' seem smart enough t'be by himself." Remy asked.

"No, it's fine. Victor taught him what to do, you know, to eat breakfast and get his shower, and make himself a sandwich for lunch. He always leaves dinners, too, all dished out, so Kit just has to heat them up. And he knows he's not allowed to go outside alone, except on the porch. And I come by every day to check on him."

"Y'change his litter, too? Take him on his leash for a walk?" The Cajun was still pissed but had gone from coldly angry to sarcastic. That meant he was calming down.

"No, I don't. He's not stupid. He's just... young." John replied with infinite patience, just like had spoken to Kit.

He started the dishwasher and we returned to the living room. I noticed a jigsaw puzzle, half finished, spread out on the coffee table.

Quick feet pounded down the stairs, and Kit reappeared, holding a pink stuffed rabbit in one hand, and a little plastic case in the other.

John gave him an appraising look. "Shoes?" He asked, pointing to the kid's still-bare feet.

"Right." Kit ran upstairs again.

Next to me I heard Remy's teeth grinding together. Guess he had noticed the bunny too, then.

This was going to be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

The flight back to Westchester was quiet. It had taken a little coaxing to get Kit on the plane (he was worried that Victor wouldn't know where he had gone, but Greycrow promised to leave a note for when Creed got home, which seemed to assuage the kid's fears.) Once we were up in the air, he was happy enough, looking out and watching little towns and great big farms pass below us. His eyes were wide when we flew through a patch of clouds. 

It was sweet, really, seeing someone's first time up in the air. Flying was a routine thing for me, and for the rest of the team. It had stopped being interesting a long time ago for us, but everything about it was novel to him.

Remy had taken the controls and clammed up as soon as we got on board, so I handled explaining to the kid where we were going. I told him we were going to Westchester and he would be meeting the rest of the team. 

"And I stay there until Victor comes for me?" He asked.

Hell, I didn't know what to say. It didn't seem to me that was gonna happen, I mean, you don't rescue someone from being a kidnap victim and then give them back when their captor asks, but I didn't want to upset him. Baby steps, I reminded myself.

"That's the plan." I agreed. The Cajun snorted from the pilot's seat and muttered something under his breath about cutting off Creed's dick. The kid didn't hear, luckily, so I just went on telling him about the people he would be meeting.

It was like John had said, Kit wasn't stupid, but he was young, and very innocent. It was such a contrast to the devious thief I'd lived with for so long that I halfway thought he might be playing us. That sounded like the kind of thing Remy could easily do, put on a convincing act and pull one over on us. But then, there was nothing in this kid's scent that even hinted at deceit. Sitting there, curled up in the seat, holding that pink bunny on his lap, looking at me with such earnest excitement about the big adventure we were going on, I had no choice but to take the boy at face value.

***

There was a small welcoming committee waiting in the hangar when we landed. Gumbo had radioed ahead and given a very terse recap of what we'd been up to, so Chuck and Hank were on hand to give Kit a once-over, so to speak. Ororo was there too, to act as moral support for Remy, I figured. Everybody else had been shooed off somewhere so Kit wouldn't be overwhelmed. The whole team at once would've spooked the shy kid for sure.

Remy tried to get him to leave his rabbit on the plane, promising they could come back for it later, but Kit shook his head and said he needed to keep it with him, so the clone left the plane carrying a floppy pink toy bunny. The Cajun's ears flushed bright red even though I knew for a fact he had a raggedy old stuffed dog that he kept hidden in his sheets. Of course, he didn't parade it around in front of the rest of the team.

Ororo, God bless her, took the lead. She greeted Remy, embracing him, then turned to Kit.

"You must be Kit. I am so very glad to meet you." She spoke warmly. The kid smiled bashfully. I wondered if he'd ever met a woman before, since he'd been living at Creed's house and being babysat by John. "Welcome to our home. Please, come and meet my friends." She led him over to the others. I pulled the Cajun off to the side.

"What are we gonna do with him?" I asked. 

"I don' know." He shrugged. "Keep him de hell away from Creed? Dat's as far as I got."

He rubbed his eyes, a pained expression on his face as he watched Kit talk with the others.

"Well, it's a good enough start. Let's get him settled in, see what he's been through. Hank should probably check him over." It'd be a good idea to make sure the kid wasn't hurt.

"Right." Remy agreed. We approached the group, who had apparently had the same idea. Ororo was explaining that Hank was a doctor, but the minute the word 'doctor' left her lips, Kit froze in fear. I could smell it exploding off of him like a bomb.

"A doctor?" He repeated, voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," Charles replied, quizzical. "Hank is our team's physician. What's wrong, child?"

"I - I saw a doctor. He's a very Bad Man." Kit answered in a small voice, avoiding Hank's gaze. "Doctors are Bad." He looked at Remy, eyes pleading.

Shit. We all realized what this was about. Greycrow had said he didn't know how much the kid remembered from his time in Sinister's lab. Now we had an answer.

"Oh, dear boy, you are confused." Ororo took both of Kit's hands in hers and looked steadily into his eyes. "You know a very bad man who claims to be a doctor, but he is not truly one. A doctor's job is to heal. Henry would never cause harm to anyone."

Kit looked around at the rest of us, still unsure. We all nodded in agreement with Ororo. Hank cleared his throat.

"I certainly understand your... trepidation, Kit, and I would like to apologize. Doctor Essex is, as you said, a very bad man indeed. Considering your experience with him, it is no wonder you are hesitant to be examined. Please, let me assure you that I only want to be sure you are not suffering from any injuries." He paused. "I want to help you." He promised.

That'd been a lot of big words for Kit, but the last bit was clear enough for him. Still, he wavered.

"May I accompany you to the Medlab? I would be glad to come along, if you would allow me to." Ororo asked.

Kit looked between the two, the giant blue furball and the regal weather witch, and made up his mind.

"Ok."

***

An hour later, Kit had been declared fit as a fiddle by Hank, which confused the kid, since he didn't know what a fiddle was. 

By mid-evening, he'd met the rest of the team, a few at a time so he wasn't bombarded with new faces, and had been dragged off to the kitchen to have a late snack with Jubilee, who had become instantly attached to him. It made sense, she and the Cajun were thick as thieves (heh) and Kit was basically a very young Remy. So we left them making bagel bites while the adults had a meeting in the War Room.

"Y'sure he's healt'y?" Remy pressed Hank again.

"Indeed he is, my Acadian amigo. Nary a scratch upon him. In my opinion, the young man has been very well cared for. He is as strong and healthy as you yourself." Blue assured him.

"How can that be?" Scott asked. "If he's been... living... with Creed this long? Does he have healing powers or something?"

"Not as far as my testing revealed. He is a homo sapiens, simple as that. A perfectly powerless Remy."

"But that just doesn't seem possible." Jean was as skeptical as the rest of us. We'd all had enough run-ins with Creed to know he was a bloodthirsty psycho. There was no way he would have kept his hands off the kid, either to hurt him or to fuck him. Or both.

"And yet," Charles spoke up, "it appears to be the case. I wonder what we are missing? Perhaps Kit has a secret ability after all."

"What d'you mean?" Remy asked.

"Well, it would appear that in the - what was it, six months? - that he has been in Sabretooth's care, he has managed to escape the worst of Mr. Creed's... baser instincts. I would say that is worth looking into." He finished.

Looking around the table, we all seemed to be in agreement that an investigation was in order.

It was decided that we'd try to get more information from the kid tomorrow, so we called it quits for the night. Kit was retrieved from his junk food binge and Remy took him up to bed. I could tell the Cajun felt responsible for him, much as he was horrified about being cloned, it wasn't the kid's fault and I was glad that Remy seemed to be able to separate his anger at Essex and Creed from the hapless boy eating cheese curls and carrying around that damn bunny.

Remy's room was right next to mine, so I said my goodnights to the two identical men, and closed my door. I could still hear them in the hallway.

"D'you want y'own room? Dere's an empty one here, it's across from mine." Remy asked the kid.

There was a pause. Remy spoke again, softly.

"You c'n spend de night wit me, if you don' want t'be alone."

Another pause, then I heard the two of them going into Remy's room. They talked for awhile as they got ready to sleep, then it was silent. 

***

Next morning, I was up at first light and went on a prowl around the grounds, getting my blood pumping and "communing with the dawn", as Ororo put it. "Fucking around outside at the ass-crack of dawn" was what Remy called it. He wasn't a morning person and didn't understand how anyone else could be.

But today he'd apparently turned over a new leaf, because as I finished my romp and came out of the woods at the back of the mansion, I spotted him sitting out on the patio with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

I took a seat in a chair next to him. He sighed.

"Rough night?" I asked.

"You could say dat."

"Whatsa matter? Does Kit snore?"

"Non," He rolled his eyes. "Jus' got a lot on my mind, oui?"

"Understandable."

"Yeah."

I stood up to go inside when I remembered something from yesterday.

"Hey, did you find out what was in that little plastic case he brought with him?"

"A pacifier." The Cajun replied in clipped words.

"A pacifier?" I repeated. "Like, the things babies suck on?"

"Oui." Remy's dangerous eyes were daring me to laugh.

I bit my cheek so hard it bled, but I managed to keep it together.

"Oh." I said, at a loss.

"Yeah."

I headed inside without another word. When I thought about it, it wasn't funny, really, it was sick. Creed had gotten a clone of Remy and he gave it a stuffed animal and a pacifier and did God only knew what else to him. Even if he didn't hurt Kit, he was definitely up to something. Maybe just privately humiliating Remy? He was enough of a psycho that I wouldn't put it past him to go to the effort just to get his rocks off thinking about how mad the Cajun would be about it. Or hell, maybe he'd planned it this way - to leave Kit for us to find and embarrass Remy. It was a long con, sure, and Creed didn't exactly have the patience of a saint, but he did hate Remy almost as much as he hated me, so it was possible.

I sighed heavily as I popped open a beer. Beer breakfast was definitely called for today. I took my drink with me to the shower and stepped into the scalding spray. 

Hopefully we would get some answers later today.


	4. Chapter 4

We were in Charles's study. It was quiet and cozy here, and private. Chuck had opted to sit this one out, since Kit seemed to be afraid of him. He said it was best for the kid to be at ease for this conversation.

It was Kit, me, Remy, Hank, and Jean. We were seated on the sofa and armchairs in a bright sunny corner of the room, with the afternoon sun warming our faces. It was about as peaceful a place as you could find.

The plan was to get the kid talking, and to see if he would be receptive to having Jean link with his mind. We told Kit we were hoping to learn more about Victor, to see if maybe there was something he could tell us about him that would give us a hint where he might have gone.

It was a lie, but the kid didn't know that. We were really just trying to figure out how bad it had been for him, how much mistreatment he'd gotten from Victor, and then we'd try to decide what to do next.

After a little small talk about Kit's morning spent playing basketball with Jubilee and helping Ororo in the garden, we got down to business.

"Does Victor hurt you?" Hank asked gently.

"No. He's nice to me. He takes care of me." Kit replied happily.

"Has he *ever* hurt you?"

The boy fidgeted in his chair a minute before admitting, "Once."

"Can you tell us about it?"

"He said it was important. That it would hurt, and he was sorry, but it would only hurt for a little bit, and that it would mean I belong to him forever and ever."

"And did it hurt?"

"Yes. I didn't like it. I know there was blood, but I couldn't see it. Victor said he had never done it to anyone before, and that it was very special for him to do it to me. I didn't like that it hurt and that it made me bleed, but I liked that it was special."

At that, Remy stood up abruptly.

"I can't stay f'dis." He spoke hollowly. Hell, I didn't want to be there either, I couldn't imagine what the Cajun felt, hearing about how Creed had defiled the innocent clone. I think we were all sick to our stomachs.

"Of course." Jean gave him a sympathetic look, but he was already out the door.

"Did I do something wrong?" Kit asked, worried.

Jean squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

"Of course not, sweetie. It's a little tough for Remy to hear about this kind of thing though, since you're so... similar."

"Oh. Right." I wasn't sure Kit knew what she meant, but he was such an agreeable kid that he just went along with it.

I exchanged a glance with her and Hank. Maybe it was time to bust out the big guns, get to the bottom of this quicker.

"Do you know what a telepath is?" Jean asked.

"No."

"A telepath is someone who can see and talk with their mind. They can have their mind talk to yours, and see what you're thinking about. It's a good way to communicate to someone when you have things you want to tell and show them. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," He replied, but I could tell he didn't quite understand. The poor kid was trying real hard, though. This was all so new to him, after all, just a couple days ago he only knew three people.

"Would you like to see what it feels like, to have someone talk to your mind?"

"Does it hurt?" Concern laced his voice.

"It shouldn't. And if it does, we will stop right away, ok?"

"Ok. Can you do that? The mind-talking?"

"I sure can. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Jean took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. In a second, Kit jerked in surprise at the first contact between Jean's mind and his, but a smile spread across his face. Jean opened her eyes and beamed at him.

"Kit," she spoke aloud, "Would it be OK if Logan and Hank came to see too? That way they can see what you show me, and we don't have to explain it in words."

He nodded.

Jean reached out to Hank and me with her mind, and pulled us along with her into the kid's head. It's disorienting at first, meshing your mind with someone else's, and I don't like the feeling of sharing my brain with anyone else, let alone having a psychic block party like this. But I decided to suck it up for Kit, and for Remy. This was important.

::Kit, can you show us the very first thing you remember?:: Jean 'spoke' to the kid through our link.

Things began swirling around us, colors and shapes forming into solid memories.

***

He opened his eyes. It was bright here. And wet. He was in something wet. Was it water? There was a color to it, and it was thick. It must not be water. Something covered his nose and mouth, something that had thin tubes connected, and pushed cool air into his lungs. He was floating upright in a large vertical glass tube. 

He could see tubes across the room from him. Each one had pink liquid, like his tube, and each contained a person. There were six tubes he could see over there. All of the people in the tubes looked the same - a person with dark hair and pale skin. 

He looked to each side, and found tubes with identical people on both sides of him. All these people were the Same.

Was he the Same?

He looked down. He lifted his hands closer to his face, and peered at his legs. He reached up to feel the hair that floated around his head. 

Yes. He was the Same. 

Some of the other people were still, with their eyes closed. A few of them were moving their bodies, or looking around. One or two of the tubes had crackling energy sparking through the liquid. But they were all the Same.

The room was quiet, except for a hum that seemed to come from in the liquid.

He watched the people, the others that were like him. Time went by. He was here with them, and they were together. He felt happy inside.

Then, the door opened and someone came into the room. There was noise coming from the person, muffled a bit by the liquid, but still loud. It frightened him. It was an angry sound. This new person was not the Same. He was a man. Different, very tall and covered in dark clothing. He moved quickly, walking to the row of tubes opposite him. He did something to the machinery beside the first tube, and the pink liquid drained from it.

This man took the person from the tube. The person from the tube didn't move as they were dragged onto a large table in the center of the room, the Different man making loud angry noises the whole time. He picked up something shiny from a small tray beside the table and poked it at the skin of person on the table. Dark liquid came shooting from the hole he had made. The man poked the person on the table over and over, slashing and cutting. More dark liquid sprayed all over the table and the Different man.

There was a terrible feeling inside him. His head was making thumping sounds. 

This man was Bad. The person on the table was almost in pieces now. The Bad person kept poking, and waving the shiny thing, doing terrible things to the person on the table. The Bad man made a very loud noise now, and flung the pieces of person from the table onto the floor of the room. They landed with a wet thud.

The Bad man walked to the next tube and pressed the buttons to drain the pink liquid. The person in this tube was awake. They fought the Bad man, grabbing his arm and pushing him, trying to get away. The Bad man hit them hard in the face, then pulled the thin tubes from their nose and mouth and wrapped them around the person's neck, pulling tightly. The person's face turned purple, then blue, struggling to get free, but the Bad man was too strong. The person went limp. The Bad man threw the body across the room, where it slammed into the wall, rattling the room, and fell in a heap on the floor.

The third tube held a person with eyes closed, but crackling with energy. This person was taken to to table, little sparks chasing across their body. Another shiny thing was in the Bad man's hand. He used it on the person's neck, one fast stroke, and dark liquid poured out. The crackling energy stopped.

The Bad man was doing things to the others like him. He didn't understand what the man was doing, only that it was very very bad and it made him feel very very afraid.

One after another, all six of the tubes across the room was emptied, the Bad man using shiny things on some of them, or shooting something firey from his hands at them. On one of the people, the band man used his hands to twist the person's head very far around.

Then the Bad man walked to his side of the room. He opened the first tube and hauled the quiet person from inside onto the large table, now slippery with dark liquid.

The next tube was emptied, and the next. Each person ended up on the floor, not moving, after the Bad man did those things to them. Now there was only one person left next to him.

The Bad man came for this person too, pulling them onto the table and picking up another tool and making loud sounds.

He would be next, he realized, with a terrible choking feeling. He would be taken from the safety of his tube and put on the wet table and the Bad man would make the dark liquid come from him, and then he would stop moving, and be tossed on the floor with the others like him.

The door to the room opened again, and another person came inside. This man was Different too. But he wasn't the Same as the Bad man, he was a different kind of Different. He was larger than the bad man. He made noises too, not angry like the Bad man. But this might be a Bad man too, he thought. Maybe he came to help the Bad man.

The new man turned away from the Bad man as he started doing things to the person on the table. The man walked in front of the tube where he was. Since he was floating in the tube, he was at eye level to the new man. This man had light hair and eyes. He was very tall and very wide. They looked at each other. He was frightened, but then the man made noise again, softer this time. His sounds were deep and rumbled through the liquid in his tube. It felt nice. Maybe he was not Bad. The new man stepped closer and put his hand up against the glass of the tube.

The Bad man made noise at the new man, and the new man turned his head to respond.

He looked at the hand against his tube. It was a big hand, bigger than his. He reached out his hand, and put it up to that hand, on this side of the glass, to compare. His fingers were almost as long as those of the new man's, but not quite. And the man's hand was wider. They were Different.

He looked up to find the new man watching him, their faces very close. They stayed like that for a few moments. He decided that he liked this new man. Then the Bad man made noise again, and the new man replied in his rumbly voice.

The Bad man stepped away from the limp body on the dripping table, shoving it to the floor where it fell, half across another body, and approached his tube, looking directly at him. He wanted to hide from the Bad man, but there was nowhere to go.

No, please, he thought desperately, please don't do that to me. The pounding in his head got louder and he could see the Bad man and the new man's lips moving, but he couldn't hear their sounds anymore over the thumping sounds.

The Bad man reached to the side of his tube and pressed buttons. Then his world went dark.

***

He was awake again. His eyes weren't open, but he could hear sounds. There was nothing covering his nose and mouth anymore, and he was laying flat in his back, somewhere warm and soft. He wasn't in his tube.

"He's coming around." He heard a voice say. It sounded familiar. Had he heard this voice before?

He struggled to open his eyes. Finally he was able to see, and what he saw was terrifying.

The Bad man was sitting beside him, leaning over him, looking at him clinically.

"Do you remember me?"

He heard a tiny frightened sound come from inside him.

The Bad man's eyebrow raised.

"I'll take that as a yes. This is Victor," The Bad man gestured to the other side of where he was laying. He turned his head and saw the new man, the bigger man who had rumbled at him, sitting on his other side, watching him carefully. "You belong to him now."

He stared. Victor was absolutely enormous, with golden eyes and long hair.

"If you have no other questions...?" The Bad man prompted. He seemed like he was in a hurry.

"Naw, I can handle it from here." Victor replied.

The Bad man stood, and a strange spinning circle of light appeared in the corner of the room. He walked through the hole and disappeared.

Would he come back? Why hadn't the Bad man done things to him like he had done to the others? He didn't understand. He was afraid. He felt himself shaking.

"Hey." Victor's deep voice broke in. A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to look again at the giant of a man. "You don't like the Doctor, do you? Well, it's alright now. He's gone. And he's not gonna come back. You're safe."


	5. Chapter 5

He was in a bed, in a warm and cozy room. Victor was sitting to his left, on the edge of the bed, talking to him in his deep comforting voice.

He looked around curiously. There was a big window to his right and he could see lots of trees and sky outside. The bed was soft and felt nice to lay in. There was a cheerful quilt wrapped around him and a pillow beneath his head. It was very different from being in his tube, floating in the pink liquid. He decided this was better.

"Do you like it here?" Victor asked, watching him look at the room.

He nodded. 

"Good. You're going to stay here with me from now on. This is where I live. And now you live here too."

A lovely warmth spread though his body and pooled in his belly. He would live here with Victor in this nice room now. It made him happy. He smiled at the larger man. Victor was not a Bad man like the Doctor, he was a Good man. He felt safe.

Victor was smiling back at him. Victor was happy too, happy that he was here. He felt very special.

Then he felt a pang, below his belly. He made a face and reached down to squeeze between his legs where the pang was.

Victor's eyebrows rose and his lips pushed together like he was fighting his smile.

"Do you need to pee, kitten?"

Yes, he did need to pee. He nodded.

"Alright, come on then. I'll show you where to go."

Victor lifted the blankets and helped him stand. He found he was wearing a white shirt and blue pants. He couldn't remember if he had ever had clothing on before. His legs felt wobbly on the floor. He thought he would tip over, but Victor held on to his elbow and kept him steady. He was worried he was doing a bad job of standing. Victor seemed to know what he was thinking, and reassured him.

"You're doing good. This is your first time, after all. You'll get the hang of it soon enough."

That made him feel better. Victor led him carefully through a doorway in the far wall of the bedroom that led to the bathroom. He did a pee, and Victor flushed the toilet for him. It was loud, and he didn't like that.

Victor was standing close to him, sniffing him and touching his arm. He waited to see what Victor would do next.

"Kitten, how would you like to have a bath? You stink like the Doctor's lab." The big man asked.

He nodded. A bath. He would like a bath. Did he know what a bath was?

It was confusing to know things and not know other things, and not know *how* he knew some things and not the other things. His head felt very strange when he thought about this, like his eyes wanted to turn off. He moaned and rubbed at them, trying to make the strange feeling go away.

Victor's voice stirred him from his confusion.

"Hey, it's ok. Everything is new and you don't understand yet, but you will." He spoke gently in his warm voice.

Victor turned on the water in the tub. It was loud too, he didn't want it loud, but Victor kept petting him and talking to him and he didn't mind the loud so much. When the bath was full of steamy water, Victor helped him take off the clothing from the Doctor's lab. He was uncovered again, like he had been when he was in his tube, in the room with the others. He looked down at himself. He wondered what had happened to the others who had still been in their tubes when he was brought here. He wondered if there was anyone else who was the Same.

The bath was very warm and felt nice when he stepped in. Victor held his arm as he sat down with a sigh. The bigger man used a cloth and soap and washed him all over with the scented bubbles. It was wonderful to have Victor touching him, putting his huge warm hands right against his wet skin. 

When Victor washed his arm and rubbed the soapy cloth over his hand, he held his hand up, to catch against Victor's. He put his hand up like he had when he was in his tube, and Victor put a hand against his, and they touched their hands together without glass between them. That made him smile.

He looked up to see Victor watching him with a gentle look on his face.

"You like that, huh?" The big man asked softly. He nodded.

Then Victor used different soap to wash in his hair, rubbing his fingertips over his scalp. When it was time to rinse, Victor had him tip his head up while he poured water down over his head. He felt very clean when it was over. It was a good feeling.

Victor pulled the plug and helped him climb out of the tub, then wrapped him in a big fluffy towel and sat on the closed toilet lid, pulling the smaller man onto his lap and putting his big arms around him. He tucked himself under Victor's chin, nuzzling against the man's neck.

He felt warm and safe there, with his head resting on Victor's strong shoulder. The lovely warm feeling was strong inside him. He felt like he didn't need to be afraid, like no bad things could get to him as long as he was with Victor. He felt like he was slowing down, and his eyelids were very heavy. He thought he might go to sleep, when he was startled by a loud rumbling that came from his belly. He squeaked in surprise.

Victor's shoulder was shaking with laughter.

"I think we'd better find you something to eat, eh? But first let's get you something to wear. Can't have you going around in your birthday suit, can we?" He asked. They couldn't, if Victor said they couldn't, he decided.

They returned to the bedroom, and Victor brought him to the window to look out at the trees. He liked looking at them. Victor petted his hair, his big hand very gentle. He closed his eyes and a soft little sound of happiness came from him. He heard Victor chuckle. Victor liked him. He was glad.

"We can go outside later, if you want." Victor told him. He opened his eyes again. Yes. He would like to be near those trees. They were very green. Green? Green was a color and he knew that. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Maybe it was enough that he knew things, and he shouldn't worry about why or how. Victor had said it was ok. So it must be.

Victor got out a pair of his own pants with a string in the waist, that he tied snug so they wouldn't fall, and a white shirt with long sleeves that was very loose on him. Victor rolled up the sleeves a few times so his hands could stick out.

"We'll get you some clothes in the right size soon enough." Victor assured him. He followed Victor out of the cozy room with the bed, and down a set of steps, which he didn't like much because his legs were still unsteady, but Victor held his hand and they walked slowly. Then they went into a kitchen, and Victor showed him where the food was, and how to use the sink, and the dishwasher to put dirty dishes in. 

"We're going to make sandwiches." He explained, taking packages from the refrigerator. "You'll like them."

They put slices of bread on two plates, and Victor taught him how to put on mayonnaise and meat and cheese, and then a little more meat, because meat was the best part. He was in charge of putting the top piece of bread on each sandwich, which Victor said was an important job.

"Just one more thing." Victor opened a drawer and pulled out something that glinted in the light. It was a shiny thing, like the Doctor had used to do bad things.

He felt very cold and afraid. He took a step back, watching the shiny thing to be sure it didn't come close to him.

Victor froze. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he looked at the suddenly very frightened boy beside him.

"What's wrong?"

He looked at Victor's face, and then at the shiny thing in his hand.

"Ohhhhh, you don't like this knife?" He asked. "It's not going to hurt you, kitten, I just want to cut your sandwich in half. It's too big for your little paws to hold the way it is. See?" He carefully cut one of the sandwiches across the middle.

Watching the way the shiny thing - the knife - make the sandwich come apart reminded him of the things he had seen the Doctor do, and that made him shake. He didn't like that knife. He wanted it to go away. He whimpered, still watching it cautiously.

"Here, I'll put it away." Victor put the knife in the dishwasher, moving slowly. The larger man latched the machine closed, and looked questioningly at him. He was still shaking. Victor carefully put his arms around him, making soothing sounds, and he pressed his face against Victor's neck, trying to hide from the bad feelings he had.

"Shh shh, it's ok now, kitten. The knife is gone now, it's not going to hurt you." Victor pulled back to look at him in the face. "Nobody is going to hurt you, ever, I promise. I won't let them."

He felt better now. He smiled regretfully at Victor. He felt bad for being afraid. He knew Victor was nice, and he didn't think that Victor would have done bad things to him. But the knife - he didn't like it, and he never ever would. Knives were Bad.

"You ready to have some lunch?" Victor asked.

He nodded happily, and they sat down to eat.

***

They had gone outside after they ate sandwiches. 

He could only walk on the porch, because he didn't have any shoes, but the outside was very nice. The porch was big and wrapped around the whole house, so he walked all the way around with Victor. He looked at the trees, and the flowers growing in pots on the porch, and Victor told him the names of all the plants. They sat together in chairs and watched animals pass by the house - busy squirrels, shy rabbits, graceful deer, and one big frightening animal called a moose.

When it had started to get dark, Victor brought him inside and made more food - noodles and meat in a golden sauce - and gave him a drink of milk. The food was very good, and after he ate, he sat snuggled on a sofa with Victor and looked at television. There were little men playing a game, and Victor liked watching them wave sticks and push a flat ball around the floor. He didn't especially like watching it, but he did like being with Victor. His eyes had been tired, and he closed them. Then Victor had said it was time to sleep.

They went back to the bedroom, and laid in the bed, together this time, and Victor let him nestle right up close, and wrapped his big arms right around him, and he had closed his eyes, and fallen asleep warm, safe, and blissfully happy.

***

Now he was awake again. He wasn't in the warm bed anymore. He was on a hard cold thing that was slippery. There was a voice talking to him. It was not a nice voice.

"Did you think you would escape?" The voice mocked him. "That you could really just leave? Oh no, boy, you'll meet your end just like the others."

Then there was a face very close to his, a pale mean face with cold eyes. It was the Bad man, the Doctor. He cried out in terror. What had happened? Where was Victor? 

The Bad man held up a big knife, glittering with cold sparkles. The Doctor laughed as he brought the knife down against his belly. A terrible hurt spread where the knife touched. The dark liquid inside him was coming out and he tried to reach his hands to hold his belly shut, only to find that his arms were gone, and there was dark liquid coming from the holes where they had been cut away and there was hurt there too and he was just one big hurt and he tried to call out but his mouth was full of dark liquid and when he made noise it just sprayed everywhere and the Doctor was laughing and laughing and - - -

\- - - There were strong arms holding him. He heard Victor's rumbly voice making sounds, but he didn't understand them. It didn't matter, all that mattered was that he was with Victor. He grabbed on to the larger man with the arms he hadn't lost after all, and squeezed. Tears were coming from his eyes and his mouth was making gasping sounds. He held on to Victor, and Victor held on to him, rocking him and talking to him and soothing him and telling him everything was ok.

"It's alright, kitten, it's over. It wasn't real, it was a dream. You're safe. I'm here and I have you and I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you. Shhhhhh." Victor petted his back and his hair and let him cry until his gasps turned into hiccups. Then he sat him up a little so they could look at each other.

"Here, come on, breathe with me now. In - real slow - good, and now out - slow, nice and slow - that's it, and again - in - out -" Victor had him breathe in and out with him ten times, and by the last time, his hiccups were done, and he knew he was safe. He flung himself into Victor's arms again, grateful and relieved to be where he belonged.

"Victor" he said raggedly, pressing his face against the other man's neck like he had done before.

"Hey, you *can* talk."

***

It was several weeks later. He knew a lot of things now. He knew that his name was Kitten. He knew how to make sandwiches all by himself, and Victor said they were very good. He could use the washing machine. Victor had brought him clothes that fit and shoes of his own, and now he could go outside on walks, and go into town to when Victor went to do the shopping. He had tasted ice cream, and orange juice, and bacon. He had met Victor's friend John, who called him Kit instead of Kitten, and Victor said that was ok. 

He liked living in the cozy house with Victor. He was very happy. And he could tell Victor that now, now that he knew how to talk. So he did, and that made Victor happy too.

Every morning, he woke up snuggled in bed with Victor. Every night before they went to sleep, Victor read stories to him from a big book with a red-and-gold cover. He couldn't read the words in the book, but Victor promised that he would learn soon. This was a special book, because it had many different stories in it, and every story had a picture. 

His favorite picture was the one of the Runaway Pancake. He liked how the Pancake was smiling so big as he ran from the people who wanted to eat him. He didn't seem afraid at all. He looked like a very happy Pancake.

He was sitting on the bed looking at the picture now, while Victor got things from the bathroom. Something special was going to happen today. He was excited and a little bit scared.

Victor emerged from the bathroom with a towel, a tube of some sort of medicine, and some gauze and bandages. He sat on the bed too, and took Kit's hand.

"Do you remember what I told you?" 

"You said that it will hurt and I will bleed."

"It will, Kitten, and I'm sorry. But it's only going to hurt for a minute. And do you remember what it means?"

"It means that I'm yours forever."

"That's right," Victor nodded. "Take off your shirt, baby, and lie down on your belly here." He spread the towel on the bed, halfway covering the pillow. He put the gauze and bandages and the medicine on the nightstand. Kit did as he was told.

###

:: I really don't think we need to stay for this :: Jean 'spoke' into the space where we were watching the scene unfold. She sounded disgusted. But there was something about what we were seeing that seemed... off, somehow. I had a feeling it was something we should witness.

:: No, Jeannie, this ain't what you're expecting. I think we need to see this ::

:: I agree :: Hank replied. I could tell he had the same feeling as I did.

:: If you're sure :: Jean relented, her worry buzzing in the back of my head. We turned back to the memories.

###

Victor had climbed into the bed too, now, and was leaning over him from behind. He moved the younger man's hair away from his neck, and leaned down closer.

"Remember, Kitten, it'll only hurt for a minute."

"I remember."

Victor opened his mouth, showing his fangs, and sunk them deeply into the back of his neck. It hurt very much, a sharp stinging that made him cry out. 

As quickly as he had felt it, Victor's teeth left his neck, leaving behind a dull wet aching. Victor quickly pressed gauze to the wound, then applied the medicine and covered the area with a bandage. 

Next, Victor laid down beside him, and pulled him close, and kissed away all his tears. Victor held his hand out, and he put his own hand against Victor's, their palms pressed together.

"You did real good, Kitten, you were so brave. It's all done now, and the hurt will go away soon. You're a good boy, such a good sweet boy." That made him smile. Victor was proud of him for being brave.

"Do you know, there's something else." Victor told him.

"What is it?"

"So this means that you're mine forever and ever, right?" Victor gently touched the bandage covering the mark on the back of his neck. "And it also means, that *I* belong to *you* forever and ever."

"Really?" He asked, eyes wide.

"Really."


	6. Chapter 6

:: I've seen enough :: I thought to the others.

:: I concur :: Blue agreed.

Jean pulled us out of Kit's mind. On the way, we were rushed through a whirlwind of the kid's memories, like watching his life in fast forward. The months since he had been born in Sinister's lab flashed past us, painting a picture of an innocent boy who had been cherished and cared for by Victor Creed. The only unhappy memories Kit had were of his time in the lab, and the nightmares he still experienced about it. 

We came back to ourselves, even though we'd never really left ourselves, and it made my head hurt to think about. I blinked fast to clear my head.

Kit was still in his happy thoughts of when Victor had marked him. Jean touched his hand gently, and he let out a little "oh" as he realised he was back in Charles's office.

"Victor is very sweet to you, isn't he?" She asked.

Kit nodded. 

"He takes good care of me." When he smiled, his whole face lit up with innocent joy. It made him look even younger. I had a twinge of sadness that I'd never seen Remy like that in all the time I'd known him. The Cajun ought to be that happy, with someone to look out for him, like Kit had.

Ororo, responding to Jean's telepathic summons, arrived and whisked Kit off to the greenhouse to show him her orchids like she had promised to.

We sat there in silence, each of us sorting out our thoughts, before Hank spoke in a voice thick with emotion.

"I think it is imperative that we reunite Kit with Victor at the earliest possible opportunity."

And he was right. Kit needed to be with Victor, if for no other reason than that was where he felt safe from Essex. Christ, what that poor kid had seen, it was no wonder he'd freaked out about Hank being a doctor. The boy understood, now, what had happened in the lab that day, even if he hadn't understood it when it happened. 

We had all been so sure Kit was being abused by Creed, but there hadn't been anything in his memories to indicate he had ever done anything more than kiss the boy. And even that had been downright chaste.

He'd spent months taking care of Kit with patience and gentleness. There weren't any memories in the kid's head of Victor so much as raising his voice with him. The Victor in Kit's memories was someone I didn't think existed. I'd never seen Creed treat anyone with even basic manners, let alone the kindness he'd shown the boy. But he had. 

And Victor had *marked* Kit. That was what he'd told us about, when he said Victor had hurt him once. That changed everything.

Now it was a question of whether the others would understand. Especially Remy.

***

We had a sit-down with the team, and went over everything that Kit had shown us, and Hank had given a little science lecture about ferals and what it meant that Victor had marked Kit, and everyone agreed it was for the best to track down Victor as soon as we could. 

We figured I had the best chance of finding Victor, so I planned to head out right away to make inquiries with the usual suspects.

Remy had been perfectly silent the entire time, just twirling a three of clubs between his fingers with a neutral expression while Jubilee and a fair number of the others had fought back tears hearing about what Kit had been through with Sinister and how Creed had taken care of him and all. I knew it was the calm before the storm and hoped I'd be able to hightail it out of town before the firecracker went off.

I headed up to pack a bag.

I got two pairs of socks stowed in my overnight bag before I heard the door to my room click shut. I turned around and there was the Cajun, eyes ablaze.

"Y'done lost y'mind. All of y'." 

"Why?" I tried to sound calm as a put a couple shirts in the bag. So much for getting out of Dodge.

"Y't'ink jus' cause Victor been bitin' on him, dat means he ain' gonna eat him one day? Y'don' t'ink he's jus' havin' a taste, playin' wit his food?"

"Were you listening to Hank?" Two pairs of undershorts in the bag. That accent of his was damn near incomprehensible when he was fired up.

"Yes, I was listenin' t'Henri." Those alien eyes rolled hard. "An dat's all fine an' dandy f'him t'explain what ferals do, but dis ain' a reg'lar feral, it's Victor Fucking Creed. He's a goddamn monster an' he's gonna kill dat po' stupid chile, if you give him back t'dat monster."

"He won't." I hated saying it. I didn't want to defend Creed. But I had to be honest. Two pairs of jeans. Almost done. "And he hasn't been 'biting on him', Victor bit him one time, to mark him. You don't understand."

The kid crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, making it very clear we weren't going anywhere.

"Den explain it."

With a sigh, I sat on the bed, and patted the space beside me. Hank's highbrow scholarly approach to the subject hadn't gotten through to him. Maybe explaining it in terms of feelings would work better. The kid was more touchy feely than he acted.

"Sit."

He obeyed, petulant. If I wasn't in such a hurry I probably would have been amused by his pout. But I didn't have time to notice how his bottom lip stuck out just a little bit, and wonder what it would taste like to nibble on. Nope. Definitely didn't have time to think about that.

"You weren't in Kit's head. You didn't see what we saw." I began.

"Y'all told us, I heard what y'said." Remy countered.

"Yeah, you heard. But you didn't *see*, you didn't *feel* what it was like for him. Christ, Gumbo, you of all people know what a sadist Sinister is. And Kit was just born, he didn't even really understand what was happening to the others, what was about to happen to him. The poor kid was terrified. He was basically a baby, watching Sinister kill a bunch of other babies."

The Cajun frowned.

"Oui, I know he was scared, but dat don' mean Creed is de right person t'take care o'him."

"He's not the person I would've picked, or even the person I would have expected to be capable of it, but he's the person who was there, who took him away from Sinister, and who's been taking care of him this whole time. I thought this was some fucked up joke, but I believe that Victor actually cares about Kit. I never knew he could care about anyone, but what I saw in Kit's memories - they need each other."

"Whatchu mean?"

"I mean, Kit needs Victor to feel safe, and Victor needs Kit to, well, to take care of."

"Why de fuck would Creed need someone t'take care of? He's a psychopath."

"Yeah, a lot of the time, he is. Most of the time even. But he isn't with Kit. I don't know why, I don't know what it is about Kit that brings out whatever protective emotion or instinct it is, but with Kit he's... human." While I spoke, Remy's expression softened. He was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"So dis biting t'ing, what did Henri call it?"

"Marking."

"Oui, marking, y'really t'ink it means anyt'in?"

"It means everything."

"How?"

"Because a feral doesn't just go around marking anyone they've shot the breeze with a few times. It's not some casual thing. It's a lifetime bond, a promise that this person belongs to you for the rest of your life, that you'd die to protect them, and that anyone who hurts that person is going to answer to you."

"Like gettin' married? It's romantic?"

"Not always, but it means that the person is... I guess your soulmate would be the best way to say it. And that's usually romantic, yeah. But it's more than getting married. People can get un-married pretty easy. There's no taking back a mark. Once you mark someone, they're yours. And you're theirs."

"F'rever?"

"Forever." I nodded.

"An' y't'ink Creed means it? He ain' gonna hurt Kit?"

"I really do. And believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are."

He seemed to waver, like he was just about to give in, to agree that Victor and Kit needed each other, but then -

"What about de pacifier an' de bunny? What's dat about?"

"Hell, it's a little weird, but I think there's probably an explanation. Kit's basically a child. Maybe there's a good reason for him to have those things."

"Y'don' t'ink it's some kinda weird fetish? Victor ain' makin' him wear baby clothes an' fuckin' him?"

"I don't. Look, Remy," I used his given name, which I didn't usually do, "all my instincts are telling me this is legit. Can you just give it a chance? Let me bring Creed back here. Let's see what they're like together. And if you think that there's anything hinky about it, then we'll do what we can to get them apart. Please?" I looked him in the face, holding his gaze. He stared at me for a long time, searching my eyes for something.

He must've found it, because he sighed and looked away.

"Fine."

The kid seemed convinced. Or at least, willing to consider being convinced. That was a relief.

"Let me know where y'wind up, oui?"

"I will. And you keep an eye on Kit."

"You got it."

So, ten hours later I touched down in Amsterdam.

And ten hours after that, I left for Singapore.

The next day, I headed out to Cairo.

It took a week to find out the details of the job Creed had gone on. I checked in with Remy when I could, letting him know where I was, and seeing how he and Kit were doing. He told me he'd tried to teach Kit how to play Poker, but the kid didn't understand how to bluff, so they'd decided to play Go Fish instead. The idea of the sleazy little cardsharp playing such a wholesome game made me laugh, and I made him promise we would play when I got back home.

He sent me pictures of the two of them having adventures around the mansion, going swimming and helping Ororo in the garden. It was striking to see them together, Kit so innocent and bright, Remy sly and sexy. 

I wondered if Remy had ever been that innocent. Of course, he'd grown up with the Antiquary and then been thrown onto the streets of New Orleans. He never had the chance, really, did he? The kid had probably had to grow up before he even lost his baby teeth. 

Hell, it was no wonder he carried on like he did, going to bed with anyone who offered. And boy did they offer. Going by the way he smelled when he came home from his "dates", he was never short of companionship, nor particularly picky about who he went to bed with.

Not that it was my business. Especially once he called it quits with Rogue, he was free to conduct his personal life however he wanted to. And if it got my hackles up to smell him coming home covered in the smell of cheap women and dirty men, well, that was my own problem, right?

Growing up like he had, it made sense. He wanted to feel wanted. If he had to use his body to get that feeling, he didn't seem to mind it. I didn't get to have an opinion on the subject, but the more I thought about it, crisscrossing the Northern Hemisphere and getting jetlag on top of jetlag, the more I thought that maybe he *did* mind it. 

I smelled plenty of lovers on him, yeah. But I also smelled other things - loneliness even with a girl on both arms, sadness in the middle of a room full of people lusting after him.

When I talked to him about what it meant to be marked, I'd smelled something from him then, too - longing. I'd never thought he would be interested in being owned by someone like that, belonging to one person. But he had been intrigued. I could smell it on him. Maybe, under the flashy grin and sultry come-ons, was the innocent kid he should have been. The kid who just wanted to be cherished. 

That posed a whole new set of questions - if Remy wanted to belong to someone, did I want to be the one he belonged to? And would he want me to be that person? *Could* I be that person?

I'd never had a male lover, that I could remember, anyway. Not that I wasn't willing to entertain the possibility, I'd just never met anyone who tickled my fancy enough to bother with. But I had lots of time to think, and when I wasn't thinking about where Creed was, I was thinking about the Cajun. There was plenty of time to do both.

Remy told me that Kit asked every morning if today would be the day Victor came to get him. Like a kid waiting for Christmas, but instead of a new bike or a Lego set, this little boy was hoping for Santa to bring him a big surly mutant.

Another week of traipsing around Siberia, and I finally found the facility where the assholes who'd nabbed Creed were keeping him locked up. It was an impressive feat, to keep him under wraps for as long as they had, and I imagined he was in a foul mood. I needed to be careful going in. These weren't people to be fucked with. But then, neither was I.

It was pitch dark, the only light from the few stars that broke through the cloud cover. I waited until near midnight to make my move, cutting through the chain link fence and making a break for the building. I figured once I set Creed loose, the getting back out part of the equation would be easy enough. After I got him unhooked from the power dampeners they'd had him strapped to, it was quick work. I cut through the wires pumping him full of drugs, and turned to deal with a half dozen armed guards who were trying to stop me. By the time they were dead, Creed had pulled himself up and we were ready to fight our way out. If he was surprised to see me, he didn't show it. He just grinned like a madman.

"Ready?" I asked him.

"Oh yeah." He replied.

"C'mon." We turned to face another wave of enemies, fighting back-to-back, our only concern getting the fuck out. We didn't leave any survivors. On the way out of the compound, we tipped over a couple barrels of gasoline and lit the place up for good measure. It'd been a long time since I'd gone that wild, and I had to admit, it had felt good to let the Wolverine out to play. Best part was, I didn't even feel guilty. These guys had it coming.

We stood about a mile away, up on a ridge and back in the tree line, watching the flames consume what had been a very expensive, very secret mutant torture site.

"Thanks." Creed said gruffly.

"No problem." I replied.

Then the bastard spun, faster than I remembered him being able to, and kicked me off the ridge. He bolted.

I landed at the bottom of a fifteen foot drop, impaled through the chest on a sapling. He got me, I'll admit, but I wasn't worried.

"He ain't gonna be there when you get home." I called out.

His heavy footsteps stopped. I cut through the sapling so I could stand upright, and wrenched it out of myself. It stung like a motherfucker.

"What are you talking about?" Creed asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I started climbing back up the ridge.

"You know what."

His face appeared over the edge of the cliff, his expression unreadable.

"No I don't."

"You do too. He's bigger than a breadbox and just about as smart." I was almost back up, and I was on guard for him to knock me back down again. He wasn't gonna get me twice. And after I'd rescued him and everything.

"How?"

"Greycrow called Remy when you didn't come back. He was worried the Essex was gonna get his hands on the kid, and he didn't want that to happen."

He was still watching me, wary.

"Why the fuck do you think I'm here, you asshole?" I ground out as I pulled myself up to the ridge. He was close, crouching down, about three feet from me.

He was breathing hard, angry and confused. "Why?" He asked.

"Because the kid needs you. I came to take you back to him." I replied simply.

"I don't believe you."

"Fine." I turned and started walking through the forest to the spot where I'd stashed my gear and a change of clothes. I brought one for Creed, too, since I figured by the time we got out we would both be in no fit state to return to town where I had a hotel room.

He followed at a distance, wary. I pulled two bags from under a pile of branches and chucked one at him. It hit him and he grasped it, holding it against his brawny chest, still watching me suspiciously.

"Fer Christ's sake, just get changed. When we get to the hotel, we'll call Westchester and you can talk to him yourself." I stripped down to get changed, and after a minute or two, Creed did the same.

The trek back to civilization took us until dawn was breaking over the horizon. Neither of us spoke, which I didn't mind. I had a room at the only hotel in the tiny town. Once we were inside, with the door shut, I sat on the bed. 

Creed was standing by the door, watching me, sure there was something up my sleeve. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. Three texts, all from Remy. One picture, him and Kit eating waffles at the kitchen table, grinning like syrupy loons.

"Still don't believe me?" I asked, tossing my phone to Creed, who caught it in his big paw. When he looked at the picture, he made a longing noise, soft, but I heard it. I could smell the change in his scent, too - happy and sad at the same time. He stared at the screen, scrolling through the pictures Remy had been sending me. Creed looked at me.

"He's ok?" 

"He's fine. He and the Cajun have been having a blast."

"How long has he been there?"

"Coming up on three weeks. Like I said, when you didn't turn up like you were supposed to, Greycrow called Remy pretty quick. He said Sinister had been sniffing around the kid, figured he was safer with us."

The big beast looked relieved at that. Then, uncertain.

"And you... came to get me?"

"Yeah, what'd you think, I was just goin' for a stroll in Siberia? I happened to run into you and thought I'd pop in to say hi?"

"Why?" He's already asked me that. And I already told him. I sighed.

"Because Kit misses you."

"What, just like that?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that? Would you rather go back to that torture chamber instead?"

"No. It's just... I thought if anyone found out about him, they'd be mad. LeBeau especially."

"Well, he was." I scratched my whiskers tiredly. "And rightly so." I added. "But Kit let Jean go into his head, and she showed us his memories - what he went through on the lab, and how you saved him and all."

Victor sat on the edge of the bed.

"And hell, it's weird, real weird, but Kit's a good sweet kid and he likes being around you, and you treat him good, so -" I shrugged. "So I'm here to take you back to Westchester. If you want to go?"

He just nodded.

"You wanna call and tell him you're on your way home?"

Victor's eyes lit up. "Yeah, can I?" 

"Sure, let's see it's about six here, it'd be around seven at night there." I dialed. One ring before Remy picked up.

"'Ey old man." He sounded eager.

"Hey yerself, punk." I scowled. Yeah, I'm old. I don't need him reminding me every chance he gets.

"How's t'ings?"

"Fine. Is Kit around?"

"Right here, we're watchin' movies."

"Put him on, willya? There's somebody here who wants to say hi."

There was a pause as Remy passed the phone to Kit.

"Go on, say hello." I heard Remy instruct.

"Hello?" Kit was apprehensive. This might be the first time he'd talked on the phone, I realized.

"Hey kid. It's Logan."

"Hi Logan!"

"I got him." I grinned into the phone.

"What?!" He squawked joyously. "You found Victor? Where was he? Is he ok? When are you coming home? How -" a thousand excited questions tumbled over the line.

"Hey, hey, just hold your horses, ok?" I cut him off. "Here, you can ask him yourself."

I handed the phone to Victor.

"Hey kitten."

I excused myself to the bathroom to wash up and give Victor some privacy. I could still hear him, of course, and we both knew it, but I was trying to be considerate. After I scrubbed my hands and face, and dawdled as much as I could, I shuffled back into the room just as he was wrapping up. I swear I smelled saline, like he was tearing up just talking to Kit. I gestured to the phone and mouthed the word 'Remy' to let him know I wanted the Cajun when the was done.

"Put Remy on ok? I think Logan needs to talk to him. Yes, I'll tell him. I promise. Ok. I'll be there as soon as I can. Ok. Bye."

He passed me the phone.

"Kit said to tell you he doesn't have horses."

"He what?"

"You told him to hold -"

" - his horses." We finished in unison.

"Shit. Right, he doesn't know what that means, does he?" I shook my head as I put the phone to my ear. It was easy to forget how sheltered the kid had been.

***

Next afternoon, we were on the first leg of our journey back, a long haul flight from Moscow to Toronto. Once we were airborne, and settled comfortably into our seats in first class (because shit, after the last two weeks, I wasn't in the mood for business class), I asked the question that'd been burning in my mind since all this started.

"Why?"

Victor knew what i meant. He was quiet a minute, trying to figure out how to explain what had possessed him to take Kit from Sinister.

"He was scared." He finally said.

"Scared?"

"Yeah. I got to the lab, and Essex had the place all torn up, with bits of the LeBeaus all over the place. Kit was there in that isolation chamber thing, and I could smell his fear, even through the glass. Even with all that pink goo as a buffer, his fear was that strong.

"I could see he didn't understand, not really, he just knew enough to be afraid of what was gonna happen to him. I went over to him to take a look, and I put my hand on the glass. He put his hand up against mine, and he looked at me, like 'See? I have one of those too, too.'

"Shit, I don't know what it was really, but there was something about how he looked at me, so innocent, like a baby deer alone in the woods. I mean, he's LeBeau, right? He should've been like the real thing, all sass and hormones and explosions.

"But he wasn't. He was just a scared kid who couldn't do anything to stop what was gonna happen to him. And I thought, hell, Essex owes me for this job I just did, and the next thing I knew, I was telling him I wanted one of the clones instead of the cash.

"I know Essex thought I was gonna eat him, and I let him think that. I guess I halfway thought that too, that maybe once i had the kid alone, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I mean, I'd eat the Cajun in a heartbeat. 

"But I didn't. I just wanted to, I dunno, to keep him safe, so he wouldn't be scared anymore. So that's what I did."

Victor stopped talking and took a sip of his bourbon. It hadn't been easy for him to explain his feelings, and he seemed as confused as I was about why he had such tender emotion towards a clone of one of the people he despised most. But the fact was, he did. Maybe the why didn't matter.

"I saw in his memories. It seems like you've been taking real good care of him." I replied.

"I hope so. He didn't understand anything at first. He was like a little kid. Hell, he still can't read, not much anyway, but he's trying. I ain't the best teacher, either."

"He's happy, though. He loves you."

That made the big man smile. An actual, genuine smile. I don't think I'd ever seen him smile like that before.

"He told you that?"

"Yep. He said you're the bravest, strongest, most wonderful person on the planet."

"Well, he's good for my ego, anyway." Victor chuckled. 

I snorted.

"Like you need any help with that."

We were quiet a minute.

"Do you love him?" I had to ask.

"Yeah. I do."

"You marked him."

"Yeah. He cried. I felt real bad about that."

"I saw."

"Oh."

We sat in silence a little while longer, a silence that if it had been anyone other than Victor Creed sitting next to me, I would've called companionable.

But then I remembered the things Kit had brought along to Westchester and I knew that Remy was going to expect an explanation.

"So what's with the pacifier?"

"Oh, that. Well, he sucked his thumb. A lot. I dunno why, when he was in that tube he had a thing -" Victor gestured to his face " - that went in his mouth that he breathed through, and I guess he must've had some kind of memory of that from when he was born, like a comfort thing, so he was sucking his thumb all the time. He made it all raw and sore. 

"So I did some research into it, about how it's usually a psychological reason when adults suck their thumbs, and it's not harmful or anything. I thought well, he needs to have something to use so he can stop hurting himself. So I got him a pacifier. It's weird, I guess, but it worked, and he likes it, so..." He shrugged.

"Makes sense." I replied as the flight attendant brought us another round of drinks. "And the bunny?"

"He showed you that, huh?"

"He brought it with him. The pacifier, and the bunny."

"Ha. Yeah, he loves that damn thing."

"Why?"

"So there's a bunch of deer that pass by my place. I guess you've been there, eh? So you saw what it's like. Kit loves to watch them out there eating the plants and laying in the sun. He desperately wants to touch them. He thinks they'll be really soft. But I told him, they're wild animals, you know? They won't let you get close. And even if they did let you, they're not gonna be soft, they're gonna be dirty and smelly.

"Well anyhow, we were at the supermarket, and it was right around Easter, and they had candy and toys and baskets and all, and they had these stuffed rabbits. They were real soft, so I thought, if I get him one of these, maybe he'll stop trying to pet the wildlife."

"But why that color?"

"It's the one he picked out."

"But it's *pink*."

"It's his favorite color, I can't help that." 

"The Cajun didn't like it much."

"He's got room to talk, running around in hot pink body armor like he does."

He had a point. Remy did have unusual taste in fashion. And Victor had an explanation for both of the things that had bothered Remy so much.

"Why do you care, anyway?"

"Well, it just seemed weird, the pacifier and the bunny, you know. Remy was worried that, uh, that you were doing some kinda...role-play type thing with Kit."

Victor choked on his drink. I had to thump him hard on the back, until he finally sat back, eyes watering and voice strained, and repeated, "Role play?!"

"Yeah. He thought you were dressing up his clone like a baby and fucking him."

"I got that. You didn't need to spell it out. Role play. Jesus Joe Christ."

"So you don't fuck him?" I was checking, just checking.

"Of course not!" Victor replied, indignant. "He ain't old enough for that kind of thing."

"He's just as old as Remy."

"You know what I mean. He's not ready for anything like that."

"But you want to?"

"I don't know. Yeah, maybe? Someday when he's old enough. Look, is that gonna be a problem? Are the X-Men gonna try to stop me from taking him home?" I could feel his anger starting to rise. 

"No. They know Kit belongs with you."

"Even LeBeau?" He asked, suspicious.

"Yeah. He understands. I explained eveything."

"He's not gonna make trouble?"

"Nah."

"Good."

***

Next afternoon, we finally pulled up to Xavier's in a taxi. Remy was waiting on the front steps. He'd texted to let me know that the rest of the team had made themselves scarce, giving Victor and Kit space for their reunion. 

Remy was wearing blue jeans and a light blue tee. His hair was down and he was barefoot. He looked good enough to eat, and I wanted to grab him and run upstairs with him and just smother myself in him. I snorted to get his scent out of my head. Now wasn't the time for that sort of thing, dammit.

"Hey." Remy addressed us.

"Hey kid." Gruff, just be gruff, I reminded myself.

"Hi." Victor replied. I wasn't sure what the right attitude would have been for meeting the original of the clone you were in love with, but quiet politeness seemed about right.

"I didn' tell Kit exactly when you were gettin' here. He's in de livin' room workin' on a puzzle." Remy nodded towards the door.

Victor hesitated a minute. He seemed to want to say something. Remy raised an elegant eyebrow at the man who had almost gutted him not all that long ago.

"Thanks for looking after him."

Remy gave him a wry look.

"Well... t'anks f'r savin' him from Essex."

Victor nodded. Well, that was done. We headed inside and Remy led us to the living room, where Kit was hard at work on a jigsaw puzzle ofn a picture of a group of kittens.

We stood at the doorway, watching him. He raised his eyes to see who had come in. When he set his eyes on Victor, he shrieked with joy, and moved quick like Remy did, throwing himself into the big man's arms before I'd even registered that he was moving.

Luckily Victor had been paying attention, so he was ready. He caught the kid around the waist and clenched him to his chest. 

"Oh Victor! I missed you so much!" Kit cried through tears of happiness and relief.

"I missed you too, Kitten." Victor replied, his deep voice choked with emotion. Kit was babbling, crying and talking and trying to get out all his emotions at once. Victor was holding him, petting and gently soothing him. This was gonna take awhile, I thought.

Remy must've been thinking the same thing. We exchanged a glance.

"Let's give dem a few minutes, oui?"

"Good call."

Victor looked up as we turned to go to the doors leading out to the porch.

"We'll be out here." I pointed the way. Victor nodded, with a grateful look, and shut his eyes to hold Kit closer.

We headed out to the patio, where I stood at the railing, while Remy sat on one of the benches. His scent was a swirl of emotions, happiness and sadness and confusion all mixed together. It was quiet for awhile.

"Something on your mind, kid?" I did my best to sound casual. 

He looked adorable, sitting there on the bench, chewing his lip uncertainly, like he was working up courage to say something. I hoped between the two of us, one of us would have the guts to. 

"I was t'inkin' - belongin' t'someone like dat, well, maybe I'd like it." Holy shit, he actually said it.

"You never struck me as the type to wanna tie yourself down to just one person." But did he mean it?

"Guess I ain' been b'fore," The kid admitted, his dark hair covering most of his face, "but maybe I'd like t'try."

"If you ask real nice, maybe Victor'd take you on home with him and Kit." And I'd go drown myself in the lake. Then I wouldn't have to see it.

"Dat ain' what i meant an' you know it." Petulant now, and he had every right to be, but I had to be sure we were talking about what I thought we were talking about. I could smell the pheromones coming off him - not his usual oversexed, noxious cloud of ego and lust, but a softer, almost gentle mist. This was real, I wasn't imagining it.

"Well, I got some advice for you, if you were thinkin' of getting yourself involved with a feral." I pulled out a stump of a cigar I'd stashed in my jacket earlier and lit it. There was one thing we needed to be real clear about.

"What?" He looked at me now, sideways and shy, peeking out from behind his hair.

"You better turn that 'maybe' into a 'definitely'. Once you belong to someone feral, it's for life. It ain't something to take lightly." And with that, I stood and turned to walk away.

I only got about a dozen steps down the path before Remy made up his mind.

"Logan, wait!" He called out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it! 
> 
> If you've read this and thought that I've used the "marking" thing as a bit of a McGuffin - yes, yes I have. I wanted to write a story where Logan and Victor each got to have a Remy of their own and everyone was happy and got along. As soon as Logan found out Victor had marked Kit, he and the rest of the X-Men were on board with the two of them. It's magic!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for all your comments and encouragement to keep writing!


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